


lovebirds, rose-red

by inlovewithnight



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 04:25:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12268860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: An evening at Patty's Place, winter, 2017.





	lovebirds, rose-red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rina (rinadoll)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinadoll/gifts).



“It’s such a beautiful night,” Anne says, using the edge of the blanket to hold her place in her book while she turns to gaze out the window at the quick-falling snow. “We’ll have six inches by morning, don’t you think?”

“The forecast is calling for closer to ten.” At the other end of the couch, Stella shifts positions, stretching her legs out under the blanket to press her toes against Anne’s thigh. “Anne, I can see what you’re thinking, and absolutely not. We are not going out to catch snowflakes on our tongues, or build a snowman, or anything else. I’m warm and cozy and I don’t want to get cold.”

Anne casts another longing look out the window. “In the morning, though? When we have to go out anyway?”

“Oh, in the morning, of course!” Stella nudges her again, until Anne glances down the couch at her, then smiles. “But right now just stay here and keep me warm.”

A faint blush rises in Anne’s cheeks, the most delicate rose under her fair skin. “Stella,” she says in a warning tone. “We swore we would just study tonight. We _promised_.” 

“I didn’t say anything about not studying! Just asked you to keep me warm, that’s all! Snuggle back under the blanket and keep my feet warm.”

Anne studies her for another moment, then does as she’s told, reclaiming her book and opening it again to the necessary page. It’s a fairly dense piece of theory, her least favorite part of going further on in the study of literature; the professors seem so dedicated to tearing all the dreams out of everything and exposing the dull, bloodless bones of theory underneath. It has nothing to do with any of the beautiful worlds of words and dreams she’s ever fallen in love with.

Stella’s toes wiggle against her thigh again and Anne feels herself blush harder. How does Stella know _every_ time the idea of falling in love crosses Anne’s mind? How does she always know _just_ when to reach out and remind her that that entire concept belongs to _her_ , tucked away neatly in the pocket of the old crimson cardigan she’s wearing tonight while they study together on the couch?

She must be some sort of more-than-human creature, Anne’s sure of it.

“Anne, my love,” Stella says patiently. “You’re staring instead of reading.”

“Am I?” 

“Yes.” 

Anne makes a face and looks down at her book again. “It’s just that this class is so awful.”

“I know. But you can do it. It’ll help you get to your dissertation, that’s what matters, right?”

“I know, I know.” Anne sighs and tucks the blanket into the book again. “What are you reading about tonight? Sciences or disorders?”

Stella’s program is Communication Sciences and Disorders, and Anne clings stubbornly to the idea that they’re two separate things, kept forever apart by a stiff practical wall, if not a theoretical one. It never fails to make Stella smile.

“Six of one, half-dozen of the other.” She thumbs ahead a few pages, skimming for the end of the section. “I have two and a half pages to go, and then we can take a snack break.”

“Perfect.” Anne thinks she can brave theory for that long. Probably. “What time are Pris and Phil supposed to be home?”

“Should be early. They were skipping team beers after practice so they’d be home in time for the Habs puck drop.”

Anne nods wearily and glances around the room, checking for breakable objects. Everything _should_ have already been either broken or rescued by this point in the hockey season, but Phil was terribly creative.

They finish their studying and just have time to pull all of the snack food out onto the table when Pris and Phil come in, shaking snow off of their hats and scarves. “We left our boots in the hall, don’t worry,” Phil sings out. “I know that nothing makes you angrier than stepping in snowmelt, my fussy darlings.”

“No one likes stepping in cold water when you’re not expecting it,” Stella says. “Hang your coats up, too, please. Anne’s about to put cinnamon rolls in, if you behave yourselves.”

“Who knew we would have a house mother even outside of the dorms?” Phil sighs dramatically and gathers up her and Pris’ things. “Going, going. Cinnamon rolls from a can or from scratch?”

“A can tonight,” Anne says gravely, getting a pan out for them. “But I’ll make them from scratch on Sunday if you’ll make cookies in the afternoon.”

“It’s a deal. Oh, Pris, find us something for while those are baking, I’m starving. Coach ran us ragged tonight, girls, it was ridiculous. I’m completely worn out. Some cocoa, too, Pris? Or tea. Anything warm, really! Thanks.”

Anne smiles to herself while she slices the dough and arranges the circles in the pan. Phil is always so very _herself_. It brings a certain energy and glow into the house, no matter what.

Stella moves to stand beside her and slips her arm around Anne’s waist, which brings another kind of glow, most noticeable by the pink bloom in Anne’s face. She leans into Stella’s touch, letting herself melt a little. 

“Tea for you girls, too?” Priscilla asks from the stove. “Ahem. Lovebirds? Tea?”

Anne blushes more and tosses her head, very aware of Phil’s giggles as she comes back into the room. “Peppermint for me, please, it’s too late for caffeine.”

“English breakfast for me,” Stella sighs, “because late or not, I have to outline another chapter tonight. Philippa Gordon, did I just see you taking my Nutella? You _ask_ first, we’re adults, aren’t we?”

“Sorry,” Phil says without a bit of contrition. “I thought you were distracted.”

“That doesn’t make it right!”

Anne sighs and slips the cinnamon rolls into the oven. “All set, Pris?” she asks quietly, admiring the row of steaming mugs that Pris just finished topping off.

“Yes. Here, take these two, let’s go and put the game on and they can join us once they get the bickering out of their system.”

Anne does as instructed and follows Pris back to the living room. “How was practice?”

“Tiring, like Phil said. But good. Do you think you’ll be able to make it to the game Friday night?”

“Of course. Stella and I will both be there. We’re making posters.”

Pris smiles and settles herself into her usual chair. “You always make the best ones.”

“I like to think so.” Anne grins at her and turns the TV on, clicking through to TSN before taking a careful sip of her tea. “Don’t forget that next weekend she and I are going to Toronto.”

“How could I forget the romantic getaway when it’s been circled on the calendar for a month?”

Anne glares and tosses her hair again. “We’re visiting her aunt!”

“And then running back to your Air B&B to… okay, _okay_!” She laughs and ducks the barrage of pillows Anne tosses at her. “I surrender.”

“I expect that kind of thing from Phil, not you!”

“Oh, she has plenty of jokes lined up and ready to go, don’t worry. She’s probably trying them out on Stella right now.”

Anne collapses dramatically against the arm of the couch. “What did I do to deserve this?”

Phil enters the room in a swirl of brightly colored sweater and Nutella on toast. “You deserve the very best, Queen Anne, now sit up and let me have some couch. Is Price playing tonight? If not there’s no point watching, but we might as well, I suppose. Stella, you don’t have to elbow me, you can just _ask_ and I’ll let you cuddle up to your girl!”

Anne bites back a smile and snuggles up to Stella’s side as Phil retires none too gracefully to the floor at Pris’ feet. Before any other grievances can be aired, the pre-game ceremonies come on the TV, and Pris turns the volume up with her free hand, the other one occupied with petting Phil’s hair.

Stella presses a kiss to Anne’s temple. “Are you happy, Annest of Annes?”

“Gloriously,” Anne says, smiling up at her. “You never have to ask.”

When the oven beeps, Stella accompanies Anne back to the kitchen. Anne mixes up the frosting while the cinnamon rolls cool, Stella’s chin resting on her shoulder and arms around her waist.

“Taste?” Stella asks, and Anne dips her finger in the frosting, turning to carefully line it along Stella’s bright red lips.

Stella licks them clean with a solemn expression. “Perfect as always.”

“Never.” Anne shakes her head, then parts her lips for Stella’s finger, lining them with frosting in return. But instead of letting Anne lick it off, Stella kisses it away, pulling Anne closer still.

In the other room, the sound of a whistle comes from the TV, and Phil explodes in outrage. Anne leans against Stella and laughs.

“I think they won’t notice if we take a few minutes getting back,” she says, taking the frosting-covered spoon from the bowl. “If you’d like to share some more.”


End file.
